What the hell? Does he want me or not? And if he wants me, why won’t he sleep with me? And if not, why doesn’t he want to be friends?

“I don’t think you really know what you want.”

He sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. “I know exactly what I want. I just don’t know how I’m going to get it.”

My heart sinks as he climbs into his vehicle, and for a moment I miss my old life. No relationships. No strings. No commitment. No heartache.

No Jake.

Chapter 12

SAY IT AGAIN

I do nothing the next day. No drafting documents. No checking emails. No billing time. I just sit and stare at the wall and wonder how I screwed things up so badly. As Ray says, what man doesn’t want to have sex with a willing partner? And if he wants to take things slow, why is he driving me crazy? Platonic, I can do. Sex, I can do. What I can’t handle is limbo.

At the end of the day, Penny returns from dropping off the mail with a process server in tow. He serves me with Farnsworth’s defense to my complaint. The voluminous document is two weeks early, unbelievably vicious, and so detailed he must have had an entire stable of associates working on it night and day. My heart sinks through the floor. But the worst is yet to come.

“Have you seen this?”

Penny holds up the cover letter and points to the signature at the bottom. My jaw joins my heart on the floor.

“Oh. My. God. He has Evil Reid working the case. I’m doomed.” I toss the documents on Penny’s desk and grab my coat. “I think I’m going to go and play in the traffic.”

“I have a better idea.” Penny grabs my arm and pulls me back. “It’s Friday night. Why don’t we go out and have fun?”

“Fun?”

“Yes.” She beams. “Fun. You remember what that is?”

I slump against her desk. “We had fun at the Slugs concert the other night. And I’m not really in the mood for fun. I’m tired and hungover. I think I’ve lost Jake. And now I’m the subject of a vicious ten-million-dollar countersuit from one of the most powerful law firm partners on the West Coast who says I propositioned him and then irreparably damaged his reputation by spreading false rumors.”

“All the more reason to go out.” Penny slams her desk drawer closed and turns off her computer. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Penny flags down a cab since neither of us is up for a seven-block walk in stilettos. Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of Death’s Dungeon, a small, divey death metal bar in the Lower Haight. Everyone is appropriately dressed in black, unlike Penny and I in our work wear.

While we wait in line, I strip off my jacket, roll up my sleeves, pull out my ponytail, and undo a few buttons on my blouse. “You could have told me what kind of bar it was. I have a death shroud at the office.”

Penny laughs. “If I gave you too much time to think, you wouldn’t have come. And look at me.” She gestures to her cream blouse, flared pink skirt, and kitten heels. “I’m not worried.”

“That’s because they seem to know you here,” I mutter as the bouncer unclips the velvet VIP rope to let us through.

The smell of vodka, funk, and pot hits me as we walk deeper into the gloom. Shirtless bartenders mix cocktails at the bar and a group of metal heads play beer pong in the corner. Death metal band posters are plastered over the walls and swag litters every surface. The cocktails have names like Slime-Trail, Pound Smash Face, Maggot Brain, and Infested by Evil. I order a shot of sweet and tangy Filthy Girl while Penny sips her Bloodbath.

I so love the cult of death metal.

Seeing me wince as yet another heavily distorted guitar riff blasts through the speakers, Penny assures me that the DJs know their tech house and minimal, and maintain a good vibe between death metal sets.

Filthy Girl in hand, I follow her through the haze to a red velvet booth near the back with a good view of the raised, central dance floor. “Nothing like some death metal music to cheer a person up.” I slide into the booth beside her.

“No sulking.” Penny pokes me in the side. “First, you knew what would happen if you filed a lawsuit against Farnsworth, and the Amanda I know would relish the challenge. For most people, taking on a powerful partner who intends to crush you like a bug under his heel would be a terrifying, gut-churning experience. For you, it’s fun. So enjoy it.”

I gulp down my Filthy Girl and wave to the waitress to order another. “What’s second?”

“Second is a lesson on the fragility of the alpha-male ego.” Penny grabs a handful of Spawn Droppings. “If a man feels the need to throttle some guy who touches your ass, you stand back and enjoy the show. You don’t tell him you have the situation under control, even if you do.”

My breath catches and I have an “aha” moment about what happened between Jake and I last night. He doesn’t just want me to open up, he wants me to need him, too.

“I didn’t even think about it. I’m used to looking after myself. ”

Penny finishes off her Bloodbath and nods her head to the beat—at least I think there’s a beat somewhere in the noise. “That’s why you need someone strong enough to take control. Now you’ve found him, your problem is letting go.”

“Now who’s the man whisperer?”

The DJ finally loses the death metal vibe and spins a hip-hop tune that entices me onto the dance floor. Penny joins me, lamenting the lapse in death metal sets.